


Tubular

by Forgotten_Logic



Series: Random Short Stories [6]
Category: Transformers
Genre: Other, Tube Feeding, Weight Gain, Writing practice, non-con tube feeding, this is weirdo okay???, um well this is odd... why did I make this??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-09-23 19:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9673568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgotten_Logic/pseuds/Forgotten_Logic
Summary: Op got captured and a tube is now an odd friend of his. At least it gives him a filling snack.





	1. Chapter 1

"Drink up, you won't be getting up any time soon," a cruel voice said over the intercom. There was a long tube that was directed into the mouth, down the intakes of the Prime. 

It was wide and allowed a heavy flow of... something directly into his tanks. It all was warm and that made Optimus give a very lewd sound. 

Though he was captured by Primus knows who, the full feeling in his tanks were not bad. But, he'd been beaten and thrown into this cell and did not have the energy to fight it when a dark mecha drove the tube down his throat.

It was however, a lot late to try and fight it. The flow was going so fast that Optimus' tanks were having trouble adjusting to the sheer amount. Barely moving while on his hands and knees, any motion would cause an odd pleasure and a heavy knock of his belly with his legs. 

Not to mention, if he wanted to pull out the tube, he'd be left with internal bleeding from the engaged spikes that held it in place. And the way he saw it, he'd rather not do that, maybe live long enough to be rescued. If anyone was even going to try.

That alone stung. He'd just renounced any help from anyone, human and mecha alike. Those he wanted to believe were his friends, he now doubted that they would still consider him something as such. 

His tanks, Optimus felt, achingly large, both must have been full! But the flow had not ebbed in the slightest. At least it's a good thing that Cybertronian digestive systems are strong, not only in the type of fuel that can consumed but also the amount. With Optimus being 40 tons, and his one main tank can hold a third of his weight and his secondary the same, he'd be able to hold nearly 30 tons of fuel. 26.6 to be closer to the truth.

Never the less, even though he could hold it, did not translate that it would be easy. Being on his hands and knees, his belly hung low, sometimes scrapping the ground. The cold floor was nearly painful, not from the temperature difference but because of how taut his belly was with pressure and cold did not help.

The warmth of the flow slowed and the same voice from before droned on. "This is the end of your feeding, 15 minutes are up. Your next feeding will begin at 19:00." That was only 15 minutes? Optimus was Afraid to wonder what would happen to his tanks if he was to... use the term 'feed' for more than 15. What would happen to him? Well, besides the fact that he wouldn't be able to walk or move or do anything without a strong possibility vomiting.

He felt the spikes disengage from his intakes, leaving them feel raw and used in the most inappropriate fashion. Of course, how would Optimus know how that feels like? Prime's don't dally in such vulgar activities. (That's just what he wants you to think!) It slid out slowly, nearly making him gag. It leaving also a trail of warm... pink(?) liquid along his throat and jaw.

His belly hung low as the dribble of the flow dropped out of his maw. He was completely full, and he did not wish to move at all but the force of gravity pulled him down.

Optimus couldn't just plop down without thought, no, he had to lower himself slowly, and onto his side. Even with his gentle movements, the sloshing in his tanks was unbearable! The cool floor did offer some relief, at least on the side that laid helplessly there.

It hurt to even breathe. Optimus wheezed as he tried to cool his systems down while also trying to ease the ache. This wasn't one of his finer moments.

Each stroke of his overstuffed belly hurt. It wasn't even his protoform but the armor that adorned his middle that had changed form. That's why it pained him so badly. The metal was too warped to be taken off right then, he'd have to wait for some of... this to be used in his systems.

That got him thinking, all this fuel would have to settle some where. Since, c'mon, he wasn't going to be getting rescued anytime soon. It would have to settle some where on his frame. But he couldn't continue to think about that, he was exhausted. He lost the battle with recharge.


	2. Chapter 2

As the fog of recharge in his processor cleared, Optimus tried to get up. Over the course of time that he was out, he'd rolled into his back, and was having trouble righting himself. A turtle in the shape of Optimus Prime on his back. 

He swung himself one way and winced, the memory of the day prior had appeared. And the size of belly was still large, thankfully the metal had been malleable enough to fold back, which allowed for some sort of essence of comfort. He stroked it and found that maybe now he could remove it. That would be the best thing really, considering he'd be getting fed again.

After maneuvering the armor off, he checked his chronometer, 18:45. Only 15 minutes from being expanded at the rim again. Some part of him was excited by it. Why? Not even he knew. The Matrix gave no response either to his predicament.

With his armor off, he found that he could get up, however slowly, he managed a sitting position. There was still sloshing in his tanks, most of it had been used in some form or matter. He touched the soft, malleable protoform, giving it a testing push. Optimus could feel the remaining liquid in his tanks squish around. 

He would scarcely admit something like this but, enjoyed this feeling of fullness. This fullness and not having an ache in his tanks because he was empty, though he could live without the ache in belly after a hefty feeding like earlier.

Earlier, how long ago was it since then? Optimus checked his chronometer again, and compared the times. It was only approximately 12 hours ago since 7 AM. 

Oh my, he thought with dismay. Every 12 hours would mean, if he was going to be forcefully injected with 26 or so tons of fuel... he looked down at the soft abdominal mesh that hung over his hips. His trepidation rose steadily. How long would he be able to handle this? He's only been there one day!

Then an alarm went off. His battle systems kicked on, albeit slower than his usual, then in intercoms came alive again with the same dull, cruel voice. "Time for feeding. Take the tube and drink," as he said that, the tube slid down from the ceiling. 

Optimus did not even think and shoved it in and it wiggles the rest of the way down. The spikes engaged and the fuel started as a trickle and the speed steadily rose. Only after a moment of the liquid pouring did he put a finger on why he acted with haste: hunger. What?!

Again, it was too late for him to pull out now. At least he was sitting on the floor and not on his hands and knees, this was a more comfortable way to packed full. 

The fuel made a splashing feeling in his tanks and the more that came in, the less splashing and more bubbly feeling over took him. 

What was about 10 minutes passed and his belly jiggled and shook with the copious amounts of fuel. He wasn't at his final point just yet but it was coming very close. His belly hung heavily over his hips and over his thighs, and over his equipment which wasn't so comfortable either. 

Optimus felt like he'd pop! His belly had grown tight even without his armor on. What's worse, he still had 3 minutes before the flow would ebb! There was only one thing he could do right now, rub and try to ease the rapidly growing ache.

He couldn't wheeze out of his mouth, it was preoccupied with the feeding tube. It was difficult to even breathe out of his nose. He'd probably be vomiting at the end of this one, he knew it, and that's what he wasn't wanting to deal with.

Thankfully the flow ebbed, the time still remaining, it's like the mecha who are watching him at least want to have him keep all of it down. What would the purpose in that? He fully (pun intended) understood that they wanted him immobile and unable to fight but this was overkill. But then again it was working. 

He groaned at the pressure, this an odd mix of pain and pleasure. He kept rubbing across his belly, it rumbled its distain. The once soft, squishy mesh was hard and Optimus was still surprised he managed to hold it all down so far. 

The flow came to a stop, the spikes disengaged, leaving the same raw feeling in his intakes again. The trickle of what trailed down his jaw he didn't even have the will power to not lick it up, what he could reach anyway. What Optimus couldn't reach slid down his round frame, leaving a warm and sticky trail behind. He released a long, wet burp, giving him a taste of the sweet slag he allowed to fill his belly. 

The intercom came on again, Optimus groaned, not at the pressure but that the fool on the end of the coms was probably enjoying the view. "You've completed day 1. Your next feeding is at 07:00. Do get some rest, you'll need it." And static. Something about that voice was familiar however Optimus could not place the name. Damn.

His servo ran across the top his large, kind of bulbous belly, wiping at what escaped his mouth. At first he thought of wiping the remains on the floor but then he stopped, starting to marvel in the texture, the smell, the feeling. It felt in a word odd, smooth yet tacky, and still warm. It's smell was just like how it tastes: sweet. Too sweet. 

Optimus tried to scoot over to the wall, half pulling, half dragging his full frame. The coolness was pleasant compared to the heat that emanated from his tanks. His frame was already trying to settle on where to put the access. He did not want to imagine how he'd look in a week, fat and embarrassing. There was a part of him that did not wish to be rescued but he can't give up hope yet! He's been here for a day, there's plenty of time. That's what he hoped as slumped against the wall as recharge over took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Im out of my brain and this is the result. Comment what you thought! :3


	3. Chapter 3

07:00 came quick. Optimus had barely a moment to register a dark mecha jam the same tube down his intakes again. The filling nature of the tube slowed over the coming days. 

After what he thought was a week, Optimus had one huge problem: he couldn't really move. Well, correction, he could however it was tiring. And to add fuel to the fire, the access fuel had spread about his frame. 

Even now, as the warm, pink fuel substance filled him. Frame dispersed the access, just as it had over the past week. His chassis plush, warm, and jiggled with each movement, either from him or from all the fuel going straight to his growing tanks. That was a plus for him, more capacity. It did not hurt after each and every feeding, however that also meant that he'd be forced to handle more.

His intakes were used to the feeling of being violated with the tube, either by his own actions or by that mysterious mecha. A part of him was wondering if he'd ever get out of this place. And even if he did manage to rescued – because he hadn't even walked since being here, escape wasn't an option – he most likely would be a laughing stock. No army wants an immobilely fat mech at the helm.

There was annoying static that buzzed in the room, or was it his head? What did it matter? It was annoying all the same. It wasn't a systematic ping for him to stop, no. His frame had easily adjusted itself to use all the extra fuel. But the buzz never stopped, only grew in intensity over the 15 minute span of things. 

Then there was a boom. It was enough to shake him, as heavy as he'd gotten it still managed to jostle him. Even with the tube still firm in his intakes, he tried to turn his head towards the noise. The flow seemed to intensify when he moved, forcing him to straighten his head again. Optimus grimaced, not used to that forceful flow since the first day, feeling a hard splash inside his tanks.

Foom! A high-heat explosive went off close to the door, not much of a door now. Light poured through the jagged opening as some mecha walked in with a hurried stride. "Optimus!"

Someone did come for him! The mech, upon seeing the pink light of the fluid, followed it to see the rounded Prime still being pumped full. Optimus couldn't tell who the mech was, the light in the room was far too new for his usual dark dinning. His optics couldn't adjust fast enough to figure out who rushed over to him.

He could barely tell color, but for the most part, the frame seemed white. He could tell who it was when he sent out a comm to the others. Ratchet looked about his frame, searching for anything serious. He didn't find anything serious, per se, though the changes in his frame were obvious. Thick chassis rested on silver thighs, to wit, were also much thicker than even he thought than before the search started. What would happen if he touched?

No! No time for marveling! It is time for escaping, though that could be a problem. They'd need speed to get out but Optimus' belly hindrance may cost them. The tube slid out of the Prime's maw with a winced groan, intakes sore, used, it was enough to make Ratchet more angry than he was letting on. Why was this done to him? Tube feeding was strictly a medical technique and here and now, that technique was horribly abused. 

After Optimus swallowed hard, he had felt those optics look at him critically; it made his tanks turn with an embarrassment that he'd never known. Getting captured is one thing, it's wholly another when you've allowed yourself to become a bag for all of their fuel. Selfishly used for what? He may not know however, something told him he'd learn soon enough. 

He tried to speak, failed. Again. "'Atchet." He went to push himself forward but that in itself was a fruitless endeavor, only getting a heavy sway from his stuff tanks. Ratchet reached for both hands, Optimus hesitantly gave both. There was another part of Optimus he'd have to check out, the very size of his digits, hand, had changed. Ratchet heaved, surprisingly enough managed to get Optimus to his peds. Balance could be a problem.

Another boom rang out, though further away from the two. Ratchet tried to lead Optimus carefully forward, his legs not used to worked, and after all this, just walking could considered such. "Let's get you home," Ratchet said as Optimus staggered with him out of the room. No more tubes. Not for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... I should have been asleep. I make junk when I can't sleep. Oops...

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trash. Happy trash. Btw hi peeps


End file.
